


Imperfect Moments

by who_la_hoop



Category: Loveless
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ritsuka learns more secrets than he wanted to know, grows up faster than is good for anybody, and discovers that you don't always have to like someone, to love them with all your heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperfect Moments

_One_

Ritsuka bats Youji’s hand away from his head irritably.

“Must be strange, still having ears,” Youji says, and then turns to smirk at Natsuo in a way that is somehow deeply insulting.

Ritsuka bristles, aware that he’s being made fun of. “I’m too young to lose them!” he says, and jumps at the sound of his own voice, which comes out in an unexpectedly high-pitched squeak. He shoves his hands hard into his pockets and feels like a stupid little kid.

“Well, whatever,” Youji says, and shrugs.

Natsuo leans forward and prods one of Ritsuka’s cat ears. “I wonder if it hurts when they come off?”

“We could ask Soubi,” Youji points out.

“Soubi’s a loser,” Natsuo says. “He did it with _Ritsu-sensei_.” He shudders. “Imagine doing it with someone who’s not yours.”

Ritsuka frowns. “How do you know that?” he asks, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He doesn’t like Ritsu-sensei much, and he suspects Natsuo’s not telling the truth.

“It’s common knowledge at the Academy,” Natsuo says, shrugging.

“Apparently Nagisa-sensei wouldn’t speak to him for _months_,” Youji adds, sounding pleased.

Ritsuka keeps frowning. “If my brother didn’t mind . . .” he says tentatively, seeing how it feels. There’s a strange, possessive part of him that’s shrieking _mine, mine, mine_, but he wants to push it away because that’s really _weird_.

“Duh,” Youji says. “It was before Soubi was your brother’s fighter, obviously.”

“Back when he was at school.”

“When Ritsu-sensei was his _teacher_.”

Natsuo and Youji look at each other and, in unison, pull a face. “_Gross_.”

* * *

Ritsuka’s twelve, not an idiot. He knows – sort of – how these things work. Enough to find the idea of . . . of _sex_ both intriguing and repellent, and, above all, deeply, _deeply_ embarrassing. To think about, let alone talk about. But today, whenever he looks at Soubi, all he can think of is his new-found knowledge – and he doesn’t like it.

So when he sits, grumpily, on Soubi’s sofa, and Soubi – the moron – doesn’t sit next to him, but sort of curls up on the floor in front of him, he can’t stop himself from asking how old Soubi was when Ritsu-sensei – you know – um.

Soubi says nothing, but he stiffens, and Ritsuka feels compelled to ask again, just in case – although it’s obviously _not _the case – Soubi didn’t hear him the first time. He still can’t bring himself to say the actual word, but he thinks it’s clear enough what he means.

“I don’t remember,” Soubi mumbles. And then, as the silence deepens: “Thirteen. It was my birthday.”

Ritsuka’s eyes widen in shock as he stares at the back of Soubi’s bowed head. That’s like . . . like _him and Soubi _doing it, practically. Only, Soubi had said that he wouldn’t – his face one big ‘ew’ – that first time they’d met. Of course he’d also kissed him – Ritsuka can’t help blushing at the memory – and nothing that stupid Soubi said can ever be taken on trust, but Ritsuka is pretty sure he’d meant it that time.

After a while, Soubi turns and looks up at him – although not really, his eyes skittering away from Ritsuka’s own and finally focusing back down on the ground in front of him.

There’s silence, and Ritsuka can’t help himself – he has to break it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. It’s not something he wants to know though. And he doesn’t really think it’s any of his business, to be honest. But . . . thinking about it is making him feel weird. And guilty. Though he’s got nothing to be guilty about, which is making him feel mad.

Can nothing with Soubi ever be straightforward?

“It wasn’t a secret, Ritsuka,” Soubi says. He says it quietly – gently – but there’s a mocking undertone to his words that Ritsuka doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t stop him disliking it.

“I shouldn’t have had to find out about it from Natsuo and Youji first,” Ritsuka snaps back. He finds himself staring at his own lap, fingers winding around the loose folds in his trousers, and trying not to go red in the face – though whether because he’s angry, or because he’s really, _really_ embarrassed about what they’re talking about, he’s not sure.

He can hear his heart beating – so loud that it seems illogical that Soubi can’t hear it too. If Soubi hadn’t – hadn’t wanted to, he would have said no, right? So it couldn’t have been _too _wrong what Ritsu-sensei did . . .

“I’m sorry, Ritsuka,” Soubi says.

. . . and Ritsuka remembers, so forcefully it’s almost a physical pain, that Soubi isn’t very good at saying no, though, is he?

“Stop that!” Ritsuka says, hating that Soubi’s apologising for . . . Ugh. Thinking about it is making him feel winded.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t win with Soubi once he’s started – once he’s stuck in that irritating, self-pitying cycle that always makes Ritsuka want to shake him and hug him all at once. But this isn’t something he can just drop. “Shut _up_!”

Soubi complies, head bent forwards and hair covering his face. He’s still – completely still.

“I’m sorry,” Ritsuka mumbles, “but that . . . It’s just . . .” He doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t like it,” he says finally. And it’s true: he doesn’t.

Soubi looks up. His eyes are wide . . . and somehow weird. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” he says lightly and reaches forward to stroke Ritsuka’s hair.

Ritsuka rears back, astonished – no, not astonished, _infuriated_. “Are you so dumb that you don’t even know that what he did was wrong? You – you were just a _kid_.” The words come out small and confused. Ritsuka _is_ confused. _Surely _this can’t have been something Soubi wanted? Could it?

Soubi smiles. It isn’t a nice smile though, Ritsuka thinks. It’s shifty and somehow sly, with an irritating cool, knowing look behind it. Like he has a secret that he won’t share, and if Ritsuka asks, he’ll just laugh and say that Ritsuka’s too young to understand. Except right now Ritsuka thinks that it’s Soubi who doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t know how to explain to an adult that he’s an idiot, because that’s not the way that life should work.

Besides, Ritsuka thinks, his anger rising as Soubi smirks at him, Soubi’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you jealous, Ritsuka?” Soubi asks, with that false, sweet smile and that infuriating knowing look.

Ritsuka’s never wanted so badly to hit someone in all his life. He wants so badly to wipe that smile off Soubi’s face – to punch him until he _admits _. . .

Ritsuka balls his hands up into fists and shoves them deep into his pockets. Soubi’s such a sicko that he’d probably thank him if he hit him. Ritsuka refuses to do that, however much Soubi wants it – and it’s not fair, anyway, to hurt Soubi just because he’s an idiot who can’t tell when he’s been wronged.

“Ritsuka?” Soubi asks, his voice more uncertain.

When Ritsuka looks up, Soubi’s expression is unsure now, and Ritsuka hates that almost as much as he hates the fake smile. He doesn’t want to tell Soubi what to think – _you’re supposed to be an adult, Soubi_ – he wants Soubi to think for himself, to realise . . .

“It was wrong of him,” Ritsuka says. His heart feels heavy within him. He feels old – too old to be this young.

Soubi shakes his head petulantly. “It was part of my training,” he says. “It—”

“Your training?” Ritsuka interrupts, in a voice that comes out small and pathetic, and he’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t all so awful. “He – he didn’t do it because he loved you?”

“Shhh,” Soubi says, drawing Ritsuka into the warm circle of his arms. “It was a long time ago.” Soubi’s voice is thick and strange.

Ritsuka allows himself to be comforted, even though it’s dumb, because he thinks _he_ should be comforting _Soubi_. Soubi holds him too tight, and Ritsuka bears it because it distracts him from the pain Soubi should be feeling – which Ritsuka seems to have taken into himself because his stomach aches and he feels a bit like he’s going to be sick. And to his shame he melts into helpless tears – but it’s okay, he supposes, because _someone_ needs to cry about it, and Soubi’s evidently too much of a dummy to know that it should be him.

***

_Two_

Ritsuka’s so tired he wants to die. Besides, his head aches and the room is too hot. He isn’t used to sharing a bed either – the only person he’s ever allowed to sleep in the same room as him was Seimei, and Seimei isn’t someone he wants to think about right now. It’s too confusing – too painful. He can feel Soubi awake beside him, even though Soubi is being quite careful not to touch him.

“I can’t do that for you – I won’t,” Ritsuka says into his pillow, suddenly angered. “You’re my fighter – my only fighter – but I can’t _cut_ . . .” He can’t even say it, let alone do it. The discovery of the origin of Soubi’s scars – at his brother’s hand, and at Soubi’s own request – is something his brain refuses to process. He can believe it. But he doesn’t _want_ to believe it.

Soubi says nothing, but his breathing hitches.

“I won’t hurt you like that.” Ritsuka’s heart is beating and he finds that he’s breathing hard, like when he’s run a race in his gym class. “I won’t.”

“You don’t have to, Ritsuka,” Soubi says, his voice very low. “Whatever you want, Ritsuka.”

“Do you want me to?” Ritsuka asks. He needs to know what Soubi wants – even if it’s just so he can refuse. He needs to _know_.

“Whatever you want, Ritsuka,” Soubi repeats. “I want whatever you want.”

“I want you not to want to – to – to be hurt!” Ritsuka says too loudly, and he burrows his face into the pillow until it’s hard to breathe.

“I don’t,” Soubi says, and he sounds puzzled. “I don’t like pain.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Ritsuka mumbles.

“I know,” Soubi says. “I’m glad about that.” Sometimes Soubi sounds patronising and annoying, but now isn’t one of those times. Now he just sounds small, and hurt.

“Tell me?” Ritsuka asks. “It’s not an order – but I don’t get it. I want to get it. I want to . . .” _To make you happy, you big dummy_, he wants to say, but he’s suddenly embarrassed, even though it’s dark.

“I want to be owned,” Soubi says – so quietly that, for a moment, Ritsuka’s not even sure he heard it right.

“You should want to own yourself,” Ritsuka says sternly, sitting up in bed and glaring down at the indistinct person beside him. “I – I order you to want to.”

Soubi laughs at that, but it doesn’t sound like a good laugh, Ritsuka thinks. It sounds unhappy – too close to a sob.

On impulse, Ritsuka reaches over to the lamp beside the bed and switches it on. Soubi blinks up at him. He looks so vulnerable that Ritsuka feels angry at him. It’s not fair to be angry at someone because they’re hurt on the inside, Ritsuka knows this, but he can’t help it.

“Why are you still dressed?” he snaps, not sure what else to say. “Take off your clothes, you idiot.”

Soubi stares at him for a moment then scrambles to as ordered, pulling at his shirt so hard that several buttons pop off. He’s saying something under his breath, and Ritsuka tries not to hear because if it’s a string of apologies then he won’t be held responsible for his actions.

Ritsuka expects him to stop when he gets to his underwear, but he’s already got his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his boxers when Ritsuka yelps, stammering at him to _stop, that’s enough_.

Soubi stops dead, curling in on himself, his head tipped so far forward that his hair entirely covers his face. He’s silent – and Ritsuka thinks that might actually be worse than when he’s apologising.

And it’s only now that Ritsuka can see that the scars around Soubi’s neck are just a taster, really. His back is one mass of scar-tissue, his sides and shoulders a network of lines. Ritsuka reaches out with one finger and traces the line of a particularly vicious stripe.

“I definitely won’t do that for you,” he says. He tries to sound firm but there’s a lump in his throat that makes it hard to speak. _Did Seimei do that?_ he wants to ask, _or was it Ritsu-sensei? _He can’t find the guts to speak though, for fear of what Soubi might say. He wants to forgive Seimei so much, but the effort is tearing him apart.

Soubi says nothing, just sits there, as if he were made of stone rather than living flesh. Finally he whispers, so low that Ritsuka’s not sure if he imagined it, _please_.

“What do you want, Soubi?” Ritsuka asks. “Look at me.”

Soubi tilts his chin up, just a little, and the fierce look of longing on his face knocks Ritsuka sideways.

“Will you . . . kiss me?” Soubi says, and tries to smile, but it’s not a very successful attempt, Ritsuka thinks.

Ritsuka can feel his cat ears moving back and forwards, his tail swishing. He doesn’t want to kiss Soubi. He does want to kiss Soubi. He doesn’t. He does. He doesn’t.

He does.

Ritsuka pulls Soubi towards him so hard that his teeth bash into Soubi’s lower lip and he can taste blood.

“Ow,” Soubi says, after a moment, pulling back and pressing a finger against the cut. He laughs very faintly. “I thought you didn’t want to cause me pain.”

Ritsuka can feel his whole body flushing. He’s glad that Soubi sounds more normal, but he doesn’t have to be such an idiot about it. “Oh, go to sleep, Soubi,” he says crossly, lying back down and attempting to bury himself in the covers.

He can feel Soubi stretch over him to turn off the light, then lie back down beside him, on top of the covers. He’s not sure whether to be irritated by this, or glad. Really, he’s just too tired to care. “Will you . . .” Soubi says after a moment. “Please, Ritsuka?”

Ritsuka huffs with irritation. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be with Seimei – but the old Seimei, the one who was fun and honest and kind. He wants to introduce Yuiko to Seimei. To see the look on his mother’s face when he opens the door and says, “Mother! Seimei is alive!” And he wants to fall asleep with his phone in his hand, cross at Soubi for being so persistent and confusing and annoying.

He doesn’t want to deal with Soubi right now. He doesn’t want to be affectionate when he feels infuriated and tired to his very bones.

He doesn’t want to deal with the stupid way that stupid Soubi makes him feel.

“Stupid,” he says. “You’re so stupid. Come here then, if you want.”

“Please, Ritsuka,” Soubi says, very quietly. “I would like . . . If you would be so kind, Ritsuka.”

“Shut up,” Ritsuka says, and hates himself the moment the words leave his mouth. He sounds like Seimei. So he leans over and kisses Soubi. He can’t see what he’s doing so he gets a mouthful of hair the first go, but Soubi makes an odd breathy sound and twists so that the next kiss lands more or less full on the lips.

“Keep your tongue to yourself,” Ritsuka warns, feeling himself go red, but it’s dark and it doesn’t matter.

Soubi laughs and Ritsuka feels happy, even though Soubi tastes weird and the idea that Soubi’s done this with . . .

“Did Seimei kiss you?” he asks abruptly, knowing what the answer will be.

Soubi tenses under him. “No,” he says, in a small voice.

“Did you want him to?” Ritsuka asks without thinking, completely surprised.

“I don’t know,” Soubi says. Then: “Yes. Sometimes.”

“Has – has anyone else other than Ritsu-sensei ever kissed you?” Ritsuka asks.

Soubi takes a very sharp breath. “He never kissed me.”

Ritsuka thinks about that. He thinks about what Ritsu-sensei did to Soubi, and he finds he can’t breathe for a moment.

“Are you okay, Ritsuka?” Soubi asks, very gently.

“Who was your first kiss then?” Ritsuka asks, before he can stop himself. It’s like picking at a scab – it hurts and it bleeds, but he can’t help doing it.

“I – I don’t want to tell you,” Soubi says.

“Why not?”

“Please don’t make me!” Soubi says, and there’s an edge of hysteria to his voice that makes Ritsuka feel like a criminal.

“I’m not,” he says crossly. “Don’t tell me, if you don’t want to.”

Soubi’s making unhappy noises and Ritsuka hopes he isn’t crying, because adults aren’t supposed to cry and he doesn’t know what to do about it if Soubi is.

After lying awake for what feels like hours, Soubi whispers, very hesitantly, “It was you, Ritsuka. The first time we met.”

Ritsuka bites back the word _pathetic_ and tries to think, but he’s so tired that it feels like wading through glue. If Soubi’s lying then it’s a pretty stupid lie, and Ritsuka has a horrible feeling he’s telling the truth.

“You . . . made a memory with me,” Ritsuka says, trying to make sense of it. He can feel himself blushing – which is embarrassing, even though it’s dark. What a corny thing to say. “That’s okay. It was a good one.”

Soubi’s breathing hitches, and Ritsuka kisses him – more to stop him apologising again than because he wants to, but Soubi’s warm and soft beneath him. He doesn’t try to deepen the kiss, and he doesn’t say anything filthy to make Ritsuka uncomfortable, like he sometimes does. He just kisses back – very gently. Ritsuka kind of likes it, even though Soubi tastes odd and every now and then he makes a soft, mewling noise that makes Ritsuka feel weird inside.

After a while it’s too confusing though. He pulls back abruptly. “G–go to sleep, Soubi, and that’s an order!” he says, feeling like an idiot.

He expects Soubi to laugh, but he doesn’t. He just lies there.

“Dummy,” Ritsuka says, and tugs one of Soubi’s arms over him.

Soubi does laugh faintly then, to Ritsuka’s relief. When Soubi presses a kiss to his forehead he only makes a token complaint.

“May I sleep like this?” Soubi asks, very hesitantly.

“Don’t you try anything,” Ritsuka warns, but he snuggles in closer. Soubi is warm and his hair smells nice. “Good _night_, Soubi.”

When he wakes up Soubi is gone, and Ritsuka’s not sure if he wishes it was all a dream or not.

***

_Three_

“He thinks everyone throws him away, Ritsuka-chan!” Kio said sadly, before throwing his arms around Ritsuka in a way that made Ritsuka want to commit murder most vile. “But you and I never will, will we? We’ll be there for Soubi forever.”

“I never promised . . .” Ritsuka starts, but Kio isn’t listening.

“Chupa-chup?” Kio says, his eyes bright behind his big glasses. “I have strawberry or blueberry flavour.”

Ritsuka shakes his head and Kio grins, unwrapping one and shoving it in his own mouth.

“You’ll end up with no teeth,” Ritsuka warns. He’s never seen anyone eat so much sugar as Kio. He’s not sure he likes Kio very much, but he likes that Kio likes Soubi. He can’t explain it – but he’s glad that Soubi has a friend, even though it makes his insides complain in an odd way when Kio makes Soubi laugh.

“You’re cute,” Kio says. “I’d tickle your ears but then Soubi might kill me.” He looks at Ritsuka. Ritsuka thinks that Kio’s trying to be subtle, but he’s about as subtle as a brick. Nevertheless, Ritsuka can feel himself going red.

“I’m so glad you’re not like Seimei,” Kio says, and he flushes and crunches down on his lolly. “You’re good for Soubi. I think I like you.” Then he grins. “Just don’t lose your ears to him! Then I might have to kill you.”

“I’m not going to lose my ears! I’m too young for that!” Ritsuka protests.

Kio grins, but his face looks sad. “I’m glad you think that. Take care of Soubi though when you do, eh? Promise?”

Ritsuka can feel himself getting hotter and redder by the second.

“I hope he’ll tie me up and spank me,” Soubi says, flopping down besides Kio and making Ritsuka jump nearly out of his skin.

“Sou-chan!” Kio squeaks. “You made me jump!”

Ritsuka stares at the grass in front of him, trying not to grind his teeth. “Don’t say things like that, Soubi,” he says, trying to keep his temper.

“What?” Soubi asks, grinning. “You don’t want to—?”

“Shut up, Sou-chan!” Kio interrupts, shoving at him, and Ritsuka’s never felt as grateful to him as he does right now. “Ritsuka’s a child, you pervert.”

Soubi nods. “Yes, but I’ll still do whatever he wants.”

Kio waves his arms around like a windmill. “Are you nuts?”

Ritsuka clears his throat, looking up at them both. “I’m still here, remember?” he says pointedly.

Soubi laughs. “Yes, I know that, Ritsuka.” He reaches for his wallet. “Want an ice-cream?”

There’s only one possible answer to a question like that, Ritsuka thinks, even though it’s obvious that Soubi’s trying to get rid of him. So he nods, and dashes off.

When he returns his hands are cold, but he stops dead when he sees the look on Kio’s face. “I don’t get it,” Kio’s saying. “I don’t get it, Sou-chan.”

Ritsuka’s not sure what to do. Soubi has one hand over his eyes, and when Kio spots Ritsuka he shakes his head and motions for him to stay where he is.

“How can you not care whether Ritsuka loves you back?” Kio asks, very gently.

Ritsuka’s fingers are very cold, and he’s afraid. He doesn’t want to be here, eavesdropping on these secrets. But he doesn’t move away.

“That’s not what I said,” Soubi says sharply.

“Then explain it to me, Sou-chan, please.”

Soubi sighs, as if he hates Kio. “I said he didn’t _have_ to love me. It’s not important. Stop making it such a big deal.”

“But it is a big deal!” Kio whines, and Ritsuka thinks how much Kio is like Yuiko. Yuiko says such dumb things, but they always make sense. Soubi should listen to Kio, he thinks, and stop being such a dumbo.

“Ritsuka can do whatever he likes, as long as he allows me to be his,” Soubi says. He says it in a matter-of-fact way, as if it were normal, not freaky and weird.

Ritsuka can feel a drip of ice-cream running down his wrist, and the cold makes him jump.

“And he should hand over that ice-cream before it melts all over his shoes,” Soubi continues, with a note of amusement in his voice.

Ritsuka jumps, and only just manages not to drop the cones. “You knew I was there?” he says, moving round to sit beside him and handing out the ice-creams. “Ew, Kio, take the chupa-chup out of your mouth before you eat the ice-cream! You’re so gross.”

Kio laughs. “It tastes nice. You should try it.”

There’s silence for a while.

“You shouldn’t love someone who doesn’t love you back,” Ritsuka pronounces, because it’s true, and he can’t believe that Soubi can’t see it.

“Oh?” Soubi says, but he doesn’t sound hurt, he sounds amused. “Yuiko lo—”

“Shush,” Kio hisses. “That’s not your secret to tell.”

Ritsuka frowns at Soubi. “Yuiko loves me as a friend. And I love her as a friend. That’s fine. I didn’t mean that kind of love.”

Kio looks agonised, as if he’s not sure whether to change the subject or say something that he knows Soubi will hate. Ritsuka expects Kio to say the dumb thing. Sometimes Ritsuka feels like he’s the most grown up out of the three of them.

“There are different kinds of love?” Soubi asks, taking a lick of his ice-cream.

Ritsuka frowns. Is Soubi trying to trick him into saying something stupid? “Of course! Friend love and family love and – and . . .”

“Boyfriend and girlfriend love,” Soubi supplies.

Ritsuka blushes, even though he knows that Soubi’s aiming for that reaction.

“Don’t torment Ritsuka,” Kio says.

“Isn’t that my line?” Soubi asks, and Kio frowns and shrugs.

“I don’t want to kiss Yuiko,” Ritsuka says. Soubi’s being an idiot, but he wants to explain what he means. “But I would want to hug her, if she were upset. That’s friend love.” He takes a deep breath. “And I always want to hug my mother, even when she’s having one of her bad days and does . . . says things she doesn’t mean. That’s family love.”

Ritsuka realises, a bit too late, that he shouldn’t have provided examples, because now he’s left with the kind of love that involves kissing, and the only person he’s kissed is Soubi, but he’s not sure whether Soubi fits that description or not.

“Do you love _me_, Ritsuka?” Soubi asks. There’s the glimmer of a smile on his lips.

It seems important to answer honestly though, even if Soubi is just asking it to be a jerk. “Yes,” he says. “I think so.”

Kio’s worried expression collapses into one of relief. “Well, that’s that then,” he says cheerily, “let’s talk about—”

“Kio . . .” Soubi says, raising a hand, and Kio subsides. Soubi turns back to Ritsuka. His eyes are wide and very bright. “In which way?”

Ritsuka’s mouth gapes, and he can feel his tail swish from side to side. He clears his throat. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, Ritsuka,” Soubi says. “I’m still so glad.” He smiles like Ritsuka’s made all his dreams come true. “Thank you.”

Ritsuka feels mean, that so little can make Soubi smile that way. But there’s no way he can explain to Soubi the way he feels about him. It’s too weird.

“But it would be okay if you didn’t,” Soubi continues, as if that’s a suitable response. “As long as you still allowed me to love you.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Sou-chan,” Kio pleads. “You’re worth more than that.”

Ritsuka wrinkles his nose. Sometimes, he thinks, love is knowing exactly how to hurt someone – knowing exactly the right words to say – but not doing it. Even though it would be so ridiculously easy.

Suddenly, he feels like Seimei, and he’s chilled right through – and nothing to do with the ice-cream in his hand.

“Tell him, Ritsuka,” Kio says. “Tell him not to say things like that. He listens to you.”

“Yeah,” Ritsuka says, looking up at Soubi. “You’re being a dummy again.”

Soubi laughs. “Sorry, Ritsuka,” he says, and licks his ice-cream in a manner that makes Ritsuka feel uncomfortable, although he’s not a hundred per cent sure why, and Kio squeal with outrage.

***

_Four_

“How do you rid yourself of something that’s no longer necessary to you?” Seimei says. He says it far too calmly – as if Ritsuka’s not standing in front of him. As if the pale, bowed figure at Ritsuka’s side counts for nothing. “You tell it you don’t want it any more. And you order it to love someone else.”

“But Soubi would have done _anything _for you,” Ritsuka says, still startled by the words that come out of his brother’s mouth. Seimei’s crazy, and Ritsuka knows this now. The knowledge is hard earned. But then his mother is crazy too, and Ritsuka loves her. So he must still love Seimei. He knows he does. If only he can _explain_ to Seimei, put it in words powerful enough to show his brother that what he’s done is wrong.

“It did as it was told,” Seimei says mildly. “And it did an adequate job, so I allowed it to look after you. And now look at it.” He waves in Soubi’s general direction, without taking his eyes off Ritsuka’s face. “My broken toy. Fit only for the trash.” He smiles – or rather, Ritsuka thinks, his lips curl up in the correct way. It’s creepy. “You should do as I did.”

Seimei takes a step closer. There’s something about his eyes that makes Ritsuka feel trapped. “Besides,” he says, and his lips are still curled up in that odd, hideous smile. “It failed the test.”

Ritsuka wets his lips. “What test?”

“Why, to prove that it loved me, and only me, of course,” Seimei says, as if this is a reasonable thing. “And Ritsuka –” he takes a step closer – “I’m still not convinced that _you_ have passed.”

***

After – after the expected battle, after he’s dressed the wounds of the blank, silent adult beside him and ordered him to sleep (although he’s positive that Soubi won’t sleep – and hasn’t for days, judging by the circles under his eyes), Ritsuka feels a brief shock of self-doubt spike through him. He prods his mind gingerly, wondering if his personality will slip away again. Perhaps then he’d be the real Ritsuka once more. Perhaps then Seimei – the real Seimei – would return, and they could all go home and be happy with their mother and father. Mother wouldn’t be the way she was if he were the real Ritsuka, and if Seimei were alive and well. They’d be a happy family again. He longs for it, with an intensity that terrifies him.

Then Soubi’s face breaks into Ritsuka’s thoughts, as always. He doesn’t have a family. He has Ritsuka.

And Ritsuka, as always, feels a mixture of guilt and overwhelming . . . Well. Best not to think about it – although he can’t _stop_ thinking about it. About how Soubi used to say he loved him, and how he never believed him. And how now Soubi never says it, but, in a twisted way, that’s all the evidence Ritsuka needs to believe it with all his heart and soul.

He wants to love Soubi back. He really does.

But how can he be sure that, deep down, where the ‘real’ Ritsuka must surely be lurking, he’s not the same as Seimei?

***

Ritsuka tries to watch his mouth, but sometimes he just can’t help it, the words exploding out as his mind tries too hard to comprehend the impossible.

“Your bond is _broken_,” he half-yells. “I can see it. It’s _broken_. Why do you still listen to his orders?”

He regrets it, of course, the moment the words are out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. It doesn’t help matters. Soubi’s expression is still the way it is. Things are still the way they are. How is it, Ritsuka wonders with a kind of overwhelming weariness, that anything he says can make things worse? How the hell is it even _possible_? But, somehow, it is. When it comes to Soubi, words hurt more than scars. And he supposes, when he thinks of his own mother, he sees Soubi’s point.

Ritsuka flops over to where Soubi sits and shrugs his arms around him. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Soubi’s developed a horrendous habit of muttering under his breath – and it’s not so much the muttering that bothers Ritsuka as _what_ he’s muttering. Although that’s a lie, because the muttering is worrying too – Ritsuka’s never sure if Soubi actually hears himself, or if he’s just trapped in his head; stuck in an endless loop of blurred despair.

“I’m sorry,” Soubi says. “I’m sorry.”

Ritsuka wants to hit him. He knows that this isn’t the correct response, the kind response, but what’s he supposed to do? He doesn’t want apologies. He wants Soubi to act like an adult. To pull himself together. To allow Ritsuka himself to be unsure, and scared, for once. He’s sick to _death_ of taking care of the two of them, when it was hard enough just taking care of himself.

“Stop it, Soubi,” Ritsuka says.

His words earn the expected reply. “I’m sorry, Ritsuka,” Soubi says. “I’m sorry.” And then, to Ritsuka’s surprise, he says, in a small, aching voice, “I’m trying,” and looks up at him with wide, tear-glazed eyes.

“Don’t cry, dummy,” Ritsuka says, for something to say. Because, honestly, he knows Soubi’s trying. He’s not an idiot.

Soubi makes an unhappy noise and looks down. “The bond wasn’t complete,” he manages. He gestures to his throat without looking up. “On my side, yes . . . but . . .” He shakes his head, as if by doing so he’ll clear the memory from it. “Seimei could always block me out if he chose to.”

It’s the most, Ritsuka realizes, that Soubi’s ever spoken about his relationship with Seimei to him.

Soubi opens his mouth as if to speak again, and Ritsuka knows he wants to say _but it was fine_, or _but I didn’t deserve his confidences, anyway_, or something equally moronic. But he doesn’t. Ritsuka feels bizarrely proud of him.

Ritsuka looks down at the golden coils between the two of them. His thread slopes down and away – shimmering into the far distance where, presumably . . . but he doesn’t like the thought of that. It’s too disturbing. One Soubi is quite enough, without the idea of two, battling for his attention. Soubi’s thread, on the other hand, just sort of sags and then stops. It shouldn’t be possible for light to have a blunt end, but it does. _Snapped_, Ritsuka thinks, whenever he looks at it. _Torn_.

He feels sad, for a moment, that Soubi’s never truly belonged to anyone – and then infuriated. Soubi should belong to himself, he thinks. Everything else is just a bonus. He doesn’t say it because he knows that would upset Soubi – and then he feels even more annoyed, so he does.

“Please, let me belong to you, _please_,” Soubi says in reply, and he’s coiled around Ritsuka like that will make everything all right for him. As if he can replace the magical bond with arms and willpower alone.

He’s like some sort of dreadful limpet, Ritsuka thinks, but he strokes Soubi’s hair when Soubi relaxes enough to allow him to move, and chooses to say nothing rather than to speak again and cause another disaster. And Soubi’s head falls on Ritsuka’s shoulder – Ritsuka can feel the fabric of his T-shirt getting damp where Soubi’s cheek rests, but he doesn’t complain – and he feels an odd, uncomfortable tugging sensation in his heart. And thinks, rather tetchily, that he doesn’t really _like_ the people he loves best very much.

***

_Five_

They’re having one of the conversations that they shouldn’t be having again, Ritsuka thinks.

“What would you have done if Seimei hadn’t ordered you to come and be my fighter?”

Sometimes, in the pale, half-light of the evening, when he’s drunk with tiredness, these sorts of questions slip out for no good reason.

Soubi tilts his head to squint over at him. “It’s taboo for a fighter to continue on without his sacrifice,” he says, which isn’t really an answer at all.

“What do you mean?”

Soubi doesn’t answer. And then Ritsuka realises.

“But that’s . . .” he starts. And stops. What can he possibly say? _Would you really have killed yourself?_ The question is almost a moot point. If Soubi had thought it, he’d have done it. “You’re an idiot,” he says, to buy himself some time.

“Yes,” Soubi acknowledges. Then he smiles, rather anxiously, as if he’s uncertain of the reception to what he’s about to say. “I’m glad I’m with you, instead of . . .” He trails off, and Ritsuka praises be that the words remain unspoken.

He knows he’s being a coward. “I’m glad too,” he mumbles. And realises – the thought almost taking him by surprise – how true that is. What would all this have been like without Soubi? The idea makes him feel panicked and nauseous, as if he’s in an elevator that’s descending a tall building too fast.

And sad too. He thinks that, when this is all over, maybe Soubi will be less weird. He hopes that adults do better with therapy than children do. They’re family now, for better or for worse.

When he looks up it’s to Soubi’s awed, delighted smile, and Ritsuka hates that Soubi’s happy that he, Ritsuka, is glad that Soubi’s alive rather than dead.

What sort of a freak needs reassurance over that?

***

_Six_

Soubi’s stopped sleeping. Ritsuka knows this because he’s stopped yawning, and instead just looks dead – his skin is the wrong colour for skin, and his eyes are bloodshot and look sore. Ritsuka’s torn between shoving a sleeping pill down his throat – or letting him continue like this. If he sleeps a drugged sleep then he might not wake up if they’re attacked in the night. But if he _doesn’t_, then he might just fall asleep during a battle, and then where would they be?

So that night, Soubi a still, barely breathing lump beside him, he decides to confront the issue. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Soubi turns towards him. It’s dark in the room, and yet not dark enough. If it were pitch black then maybe they wouldn’t be having this problem.

“I don’t know,” Soubi says. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

_How could you have?_ Ritsuka thinks, rather crossly. Soubi does the best imitation of a corpse on a slab when he’s pretending to be asleep that Ritsuka’s ever seen. “You didn’t,” he mutters.

“Can I get you anything?” Soubi asks hesitantly.

Ritsuka thinks about that. Would a warm drink help Soubi relax, perhaps? Or a softer pillow? He snorts. As if. But he might as well ask. “No,” he says. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Soubi says, although it’s clear that he’s not.

Ritsuka wonders what he could try that might actually do any good. He moves closer to Soubi and pats his arm rather gingerly, before moving up to pat his hair.

Soubi’s breathing quickens, and then slows. He certainly sounds more relaxed, Ritsuka thinks, but his arm starts to ache from holding it up, and he’s too tired to keep it up. He falls asleep himself before he can check if Soubi’s still awake.

The next morning it’s obvious that while spending the night pressed far too close to Soubi has left _Ritsuka_ feeling refreshed, although hideously embarrassed, it hasn’t done much for Soubi’s problem.

“Did you sleep at _all_?” Ritsuka asks. He doesn’t mean it to come out quite so accusatory, but he can hear the frustration and irritation in his own voice.

The words hang in the air.

“I don’t know,” Soubi says dully. At least, the words sound lifeless, but when Ritsuka looks down he sees that Soubi’s clenching his fists so tight it must be painful.

“Soubi—”

“I’ll make you some breakfast,” Soubi interrupts, his fingers uncurling and then clasping together in an imitation of nonchalance. Ritsuka can see him trembling, ever so slightly.

When Soubi makes to rise, Ritsuka finds himself grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back. “I don’t want any breakfast,” he says. “I want you to go to sleep!”

Soubi smiles, very tiredly. “It’s morning, Ritsuka. Time to get up.”

Ritsuka can feel his lips curling into a pout. A childish one. “I won’t get up until you go to sleep!”

Soubi’s smile widens very slightly. “Not even for breakfast?”

Ritsuka can feel his tummy rumble. “Not even for that!”

Soubi laughs then, and snuggles into Ritsuka’s side. “We’ll see who cracks first,” he murmurs, as if this is a game rather than something deadly serious.

After an hour, Ritsuka is bored, irritated . . . and very, very hungry. And Soubi – curse him – is still very much awake, even though he lies there quite quietly.

“What will it take to make you go to sleep?” Ritsuka bursts out, rather louder than he intended.

Soubi blinks and peers up at him. He’s taken his glasses off – because Ritsuka told him to – and his gaze is loose and unfocused. “Can I make you breakfast yet, Ritsuka? You must be hungry.”

Ritsuka can feel his tail thumping against the mattress. He tries to feel less angry, but he can’t, and that only makes things worse. “I want you to go to sleep!” he all but yells. “Why won’t you go to sleep?”

Soubi’s props himself up on one elbow. His hair is a mess. “It’s not as easy as that, Ritsuka,” he says quietly. “If I could, I would.” He says something else, but it’s so low that Ritsuka can’t hear it.

Some days, Ritsuka would let muttered things go. But today he’s too angry, too frustrated, to be kind. “What was that?”

“I . . .”

“Tell me!” Ritsuka says.

Soubi sags back down on to the bed. “I can’t protect you when I’m this tired,” he says, his voice colourless. “But the more I worry about protecting you, the more I can’t sleep.”

Ritsuka looks at him.

“I’m sorry, Ritsuka,” Soubi says, with complete predictability.

Ritsuka boils over. “I’m worried to _death _about your health, and you’re making yourself sick over _me_?” he shouts. And then feels like an idiot as the silence yawns. “I mean . . . I just want . . .” He trails off, not quite sure what he’s saying, and turns and stares at the wall as if it were deeply interesting.

He can hear Soubi sit up, but he won’t turn around, he’s _determined _not to turn around.

“Shut up, Soubi,” Ritsuka says firmly, to ward off the apology he knows is coming.

But, to his surprise, stupid Soubi doesn’t obey orders this time. “You were worried . . . about me?” he asks, rather tentatively.

“Yes,” Ritsuka says, very shortly.

Ritsuka feels a kiss being pressed to his head, and the knot inside him loosens. Only a little, but it’s enough to count.

“After I’ve made you some breakfast,” Soubi says, “I think I’ll try and get some sleep, if that’s okay.”

Ritsuka rolls his eyes, even though Soubi can’t see it. “Moron,” he says, “of course it’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Soubi says, and to Ritsuka’s irritation – and strange pleasure, though he would never admit it – he picks him up and carries him into the kitchen as if he were a little kid, before setting him down and patting him on the head.

Soubi doesn’t sleep much that morning, of course – after half an hour he’s up and insisting he’s ready to go – but when he smiles at Ritsuka it looks real, for the first time in days.

***

“If you want to talk to me, you can just wake me up,” Soubi says.

Ritsuka jumps about five feet. Soubi hasn’t even opened his eyes! It’s hardly fair! “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says defensively.

Soubi’s lips quirk. “Liar,” he murmurs.

Ritsuka’s ready to protest, when Soubi’s arm snakes out and pulls him back down on to the bed. He lands awkwardly, and Soubi laughs and wiggles until Ritsuka’s well and truly trapped by various heavy limbs. He would struggle, but . . .

“Dummy.”

Soubi doesn’t reply, just makes a hum that’s half-assent, but half something warmer, happier.

After a few minutes, Soubi asks, very sleepily, “So what did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing!” Ritsuka says quickly, remembering his grievance and struggling to sit up, but Soubi’s arms are tight and after a brief tussle that makes him laugh, unwillingly, he gives up and subsides. “Just glad you’re sleeping now,” he mutters.

Soubi snorts. “So you were watching me sleep?” he asks, sounding both delighted and heartless. It’s the most normal-Soubi-like he’s sounded in days. In _weeks_.

“I was not!” Ritsuka yells, despite that. He flails his arms, and by the time he’s managed to finally extricate himself from Soubi’s limpet-like grip, Soubi’s laughing so hard he can barely speak.

Ritsuka flees to the kitchen to sulk. After a while, Soubi joins him there. “I’m sorry,” he says, but there’s a teasing, laughing air to his voice that makes Ritsuka want to hit him and hug him all at once. “But I love you, Ritsuka.”

Ritsuka blinks. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Soubi hasn’t said that for a long time. “Yeah, well,” Ritsuka says, staring hard at the floor, “I love you too. Dummy,” he adds, for good measure.

He’s too embarrassed to look up, and he’s not convinced that love is a _good _thing, on balance, but Soubi’s arms are suddenly tight around him, and so he allows himself to believe – to hope – that maybe, one day, the happiness he’s feeling right this moment with Soubi is one he can wake up to every day.


End file.
